It Was a Dark Night (But Hadn't Stormed Since Last Tuesday)
by 29Pieces
Summary: Someone's trading secrets with Heaven and Crowley is at the top of the suspect list. The proof of his loyalty that Hell is asking for is too much to ask, really. Now they've got Aziraphale, and how is Crowley going to rescue him without putting them both in even greater danger? With a little bit of smooth talking and a whole lot of hoping his angel can hold on. Whump & comfort.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello, all! This is part 3 of the Feathers series, but can be read on its own. I hadn't originally planned to write a part 3, because I hadn't originally planned to write a part 2, but by happy accident I did just that! You can thank Lady Wallace for sparking the original inspiration, sarahenany for sparking parts 2 and 3 inspiration with her amazing comments, tessseagull for keeping my interest in continuing alive and well, and Aini Nufire for making sure I don't post this with missing words and bizarrely placed commas! ^_^_

_This one continues the trend of going ever so slightly darker but there's no graphic violence on screen. And as much as I love whump, it is only wonderful because it's a means to an end (even more wonderful comfort!) Happy endings are my life!_

* * *

It Was a Dark Night (But Hadn't Stormed Since Last Tuesday)

It wasn't raining the night Crowley burst into the bookshop.

An odd thing for Aziraphale to have thought; he might just as well have said they weren't in Poland, or he wasn't eating bananas at the time, or any number of other circumstances that _weren't_. And yet he very clearly thought _it isn't even raining_ when Crowley stormed through the door as though it wasn't locked with a _CLOSED _sign clearly posted (it did not say "sorry we're closed", because Aziraphale was never sorry to be closed).

Probably it was the look on the demon's face that prompted the thought. He generally saved scowls like that one for when he was quite cross, from things like cancelled TV programmes (usually from his own evil doings) or meetings in Hell that ran too long (all of them) or weeks where it never stopped raining.

"Angel!" Crowley shouted, slamming the door behind him and turning the lock.

"Whatever is the matter, my dear-"

"I know you're in here, angel!" An absurdly redundant observation to make, since Crowley was looking right at him.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest all the shouting, but Crowley slid his dark glasses down his nose and shook his head. Without his eyes covered, Aziraphale could see the panic in the yellow-gold gaze. Aziraphale remained silent, nodding as he pressed his lips together in a sign that he understood to stay quiet.

Crowley dipped his head towards the back, then started stalking the other direction, seeming to be making a show of looking for him—in the shop that was quite obviously empty but for the two of them. Aziraphale wanted to ask him what in Heaven's name (or in Hell's if he would prefer) he was doing, but obligingly slipped to the back room instead.

A second later, Crowley hurried in behind him.

"Crowley, what-"

"No time," the demon snapped, dashing forward and grabbing Aziraphale's arm. "You have to run."

Aziraphale spluttered. "I don't follow-"

"_Run_, angel, you have to get out of here. Quickly. _Now_, in fact. Just trust me."

He did; he also would have felt better with more information. Aziraphale took one look at Crowley's still panic-stricken face and didn't ask questions, though. "Alright, there's a back door to the street-"

"Nah, it's no good, they have the place surrounded."

"_They_?"

"You have to get up to Heaven, it's the only option. You'll be safe there. Angel, please just _hurry_."

"But Heaven is across London," Aziraphale reminded him. Some of Crowley's fear was starting to rub off on him and now the angel was feeling decidedly nervous. He couldn't hold the questions back anymore. "Who are _they_ and what are they doing here?"

Crowley cursed, throwing a look back over his shoulder. Then he replied all in one breath, "Someone's been passing secrets on to Heaven and Ligur has everyone convinced it's us which we both know is rubbish because I don't know any secrets even if I was feeling like sharing but they want to know I'm not a traitor so they've sent me here to prove myself."

Aziraphale stared at him, blinking owlishly as it all processed. "But… that's absurd. We meet for lunch sometimes and do small miracles or temptations for each other, that's all. We're not spies."

"Yes, _I_ know that!" Crowley hissed testily. "But they've decided I'm the most likely candidate until I prove otherwise."

"And… how do you prove otherwise?" Aziraphale squeaked though of course he already had an inkling of where this was going.

Crowley stirred and grumbled under his breath before admitting, "They said if I was so clever at getting a feather from Gabriel, I should have no trouble taking one from you."

Aziraphale couldn't help himself; he took a step back from the demon before he'd even realized he'd moved at all. The look on Crowley's face left him cursing himself.

"Which is why I'm telling you to run," Crowley muttered, turning away. "You know I wouldn't. You _know_ that. You don't understand, if I walk out of here without a feather, they'll come in and take it themselves." He gripped Aziraphale's arm again, expression now so distressed that it took the angel's breath away. "Aziraphale, you _do not want that to happen_. They're not going to just pluck one out and go, they-" Crowley's breath hitched in fear and he shook his head. "You have to run, it's your only chance. You can go through the summoning circle, can't you?"

"But that would discorporate me-"

"Better than the alternative. They'll give you a new body upstairs."

That was probably true, but the fact that Crowley was even suggesting it—Crowley, who shared Aziraphale's disdain for paperwork and the inconvenience of discorporation—spoke to just how awful it would be if the other demons got in. Aziraphale looked down at his hands regretfully, hoping they could rebuild this body just as it was, as he'd gotten rather used to it.

"But wait just a moment," Aziraphale said as Crowley tried to usher him back out the door. The angel dug his heels in and turned. "If they come in here and find me escaped to Heaven, won't that look dreadfully suspicious? What happens to _you _if you don't return with a feather as proof?"

"Oh, uh… I'll think of something," Crowley muttered distractedly.

Which meant he either hadn't thought about it at all and didn't realize the danger, or he'd given it a good deal of thought and knew the terrible position it would put him in but hadn't yet thought of a way out of it because there wasn't one.

Well, Aziraphale was having none of that. Stepping backwards, he shook his head.

"You need a trophy, Crowley dear. It's alright. I'll give you one, of my own free will, and that's not at all the same as you taking one."

"No- angel- I don't _want _one!"

Aziraphale understood the hesitancy. To take a feather from an enemy who'd been bested was an old, rather barbaric custom—a way to humiliate an opponent by keeping the feather as a trophy so everyone would know who was the stronger, more powerful one and who was therefore _less_. In the old days it had usually been accompanied by the victor slaying the loser a second later, of course, though the days of pitched battles between the two camps had ended before humanity was even created, well before Crowley and Aziraphale had met.

The custom had lingered, though. Aziraphale knew that Gabriel in particular had an entire wall in Heaven covered in blackened feathers, each one gaining him more power and respect among the other angels.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley found such things distasteful, though. Recently, the angel had been forced to take one from his friend—who'd been tied up and unable to fight at the time—and it had been the most awful experience of Aziraphale's life, even if it saved both of theirs.

So now that the roles were reversed, he knew exactly how Crowley was feeling but it seemed there was really no other choice.

"Needs must," Aziraphale said in what he hoped was a brave voice, giving his shoulders a light roll as he brought his wings into view.

Somewhere in the front of the building, a door slammed open on its hinges.

"Croooooowleeeey!"

It was too late.

o.O.o

Crowley felt a chill roll down his spine and would have strongly considered turning into a snake and slithering away from this entire mess, except that would leave Aziraphale to face three demons, alone, weaponless. Having been in that position himself with the three archangels, Crowley didn't wish that kind of helpless terror on his friend.

"Fight me," Aziraphale hissed, opening his arms and wings invitingly. "Crowley, they're here now, they might as well see you take one for themselves."

Footsteps slowly, ominously, approached the back room.

Crowley shook his head. "I can't."

"You have to." Aziraphale closed the distance between them so that Crowley could see himself reflected in the angel's wide eyes. His face had gone nearly as pale as his hair. "Crowley, _please_, I- I would rather it be you than Hastur. Please."

Damn it. Crowley grabbed him by the lapels of his coat but then hesitated. "I'm sorry…"

"I forgive you, dear. And don't mind a thing I say."

Crowley nodded. His gut twisted at the mere thought of what he had to do, but the footsteps in the front room had nearly reached them. The demon took a breath and flung Aziraphale around, slamming him down over the nearby desk so that the stack of books on it tumbled to the floor.

Aziraphale squeaked, likely more distressed about the treatment of the books than himself, and threw a fist up at Crowley's face. It caught him right in the eye. Crowley was just glad Aziraphale was fighting back, making the charade the slightest bit more palatable. He reeled back but didn't release the angel, aware that Hastur, Ligur, and Dagon had reached the back room and were watching with amused snickers.

"Feisty angel," Crowley sneered, forcing contempt into his voice. He released Aziraphale's coat to block his arm instead as the angel swung again. From the corner of his eye, Crowley saw the wing streaking towards him but didn't try to avoid it, letting Aziraphale knock him to the side.

"Maybe we should step in," Dagon tittered from the doorway, though she made no move to do so.

"No," Hastur disagreed to Crowley's relief. "Crowley is supposed to be proving himself."

They couldn't drag this out forever. With another mental apology, hoping this wasn't going to destroy the one friendship Crowley had, the demon grabbed Aziraphale's wing near the joint and yanked him around face first into the wall. Aziraphale choked on a surprised _oomph_ but let Crowley keep him pinned, though the demon could feel him shaking.

Hating Hastur, hating himself, hating everything and everyone that had brought them to this moment, Crowley nevertheless grabbed a shining white primary.

"I told you I'd win eventually," he growled, loud enough for the others to hear him, as though this had been an ongoing rivalry that had finally come to a head.

"Let go, _serpent_," Aziraphale retorted, making a show of trying to wriggle free and then resting his cheek on the wall when he couldn't, breathing heavily. "Do it, then. It _doesn't change anything._"

The tone was scathing but the words were a gentle promise and forgiveness that Crowley could never deserve. Steeling himself, the demon plucked the feather straight out of the beautiful wing, mindful not to damage the quill. Though he was expecting Aziraphale to cry out, he still wasn't prepared for it. The angel's wings jerked as though Crowley had been much rougher than he was and an agonized shout tore itself from Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley released him and stepped back with his trophy in hand, letting the angel slump to the ground. Having had feathers taken from him by force in the recent past, Crowley knew it wasn't all a show, even though he'd tried to be as careful as he could.

"Look at that beauty," the demon made himself chuckle, turning his back on Aziraphale and stepping away from him a few paces so that the other demons were obliged to gather in closer to see—away from the angel. "Pristine."

"A fine trophy," Dagon agreed. "That's that, then."

"That is _not _that," Hastur grumbled. "Someone is a traitor and who else would it be?"

Ligur shifted slightly, just enough to catch Crowley's attention. The demon's eyes narrowed, but no one could see it behind his glasses, of course. Who indeed…

"As you can see, not me," Crowley shrugged, running the feather between his thumb and first finger. It was longer and gleamed even brighter than the covert feather Aziraphale had given to him after his encounter with the archangels, but unlike that one, Crowley ached just to be holding it. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be holding a symbol of power over the angel. He didn't want to be thought of as better than Aziraphale, not when in truth it was quite the opposite. He was low and despicable and this had been a low, despicable thing to do.

A scurry of movement behind them had all four demons turning to see Aziraphale on his feet, nearly to the front door.

"Oy!" Crowley yelled, twitching as though giving chase, not because he actually was but because it was what a proper evil demon would do.

Hastur, unfortunately, really was a proper evil demon. He disappeared in the blink of an eye, reappearing at the door just in time for Aziraphale to nearly run into him. The angel threw up his hands in self-defense. Hastur grabbed his wrists, giving him a harsh shake. Crowley internally groaned.

"And where do you think you're going?" Hastur asked as the rest of the demons joined him out in the central room. "Maybe Crowley _isn't_ our spy—though I still say he is—but we have questions for you, white wings."

"Unhand me at once!" Aziraphale snapped, wings disappearing as he struggled in vain to yank away. "I _demand _that you-"

"I'm not interested in your demands," Hastur retorted as he manhandled the squirming angel back into the center of the ring.

Aziraphale kicked him—hard. Beside Crowley, Ligur snickered in amusement so Crowley didn't try to hide his own satisfied smile at his angel's spirit.

Hastur didn't seem to find it as funny, growling as he levered downwards. Aziraphale winced, driven down to his knees.

"Whatever you hope to accomplish, you won't succeed," Aziraphale sniffed. "I have nothing to say to you foul creatures."

"We'll see about that," Hastur said. Metal clinked and where he'd been holding Aziraphale's wrists, manacles appeared instead. The demon slid one finger along the short chain connecting them, pulling upwards so that Aziraphale's arms were raised over his head. With his other hand, Hastur reached for the angel's throat. "You're not ready to give anything up yet. That's alright. It takes pain to loosen tongues. Pain and fear."

"Now see here, I've already _told _you-"

"So you can act as tough as you want," Hastur went on over him. "But once we're finished and have no more use for you…" He leaned in, squeezing enough to make Aziraphale choke and cough. "Then we'll pluck out _all _your feathers one by one and leave your corpse at Heaven's front door as a warning about spies. Think on that."

"Yes but," Aziraphale wheezed out. "Well, that is to say, Heaven and Hell actually share a front door, it's only once you're inside that-"

Hastur back-handed the angel across the face, letting go of the chain so that Aziraphale was knocked down to the floor.

Dagon and Ligur were both tittering again, but Crowley could barely force a grin to his lips. On the one hand, he was glad Aziraphale was fighting, showing that he wasn't afraid. On the other hand, they both knew that Aziraphale _was _afraid, that he _should_ be afraid, and that Hastur would only get worse if Aziraphale kept that up. Crowley was torn. He wanted the angel to act cowed to save himself, but loved and admired him for not. He needed a plan, a _plan _damn it, some way to get them both out of this mess without simultaneously bringing on their own death warrants.

Before he could think of anything, Hastur had turned towards him, pointing.

"You," he snapped. "Go fetch Beelzebub." His grin was dark and dangerous, much like a rabid crocodile, and not the cuddly kind. "After all, the Lord of Hell will want to be here for the… interrogation."

But again, that would leave Aziraphale completely alone and unprotected in the hands of the three demons, at least two of whom believed he had information to be obtained and one of whom, Crowley suspected, needed them to continue believing it.

"Why me?" he protested automatically.

"Because I said so."

"You had all better run back to Hell," Aziraphale piped up, though with a slight tremble in his voice that he couldn't quite hide as he slowly pushed himself back up to his knees. "They'll be checking in on me soon, you know. And if I don't answer, well, you wouldn't want archangels to come looking, now would you? I expect Michael herself will be here quite soon, so-"

"I doubt that," Dagon snorted, but it was Ligur's reaction that interested Crowley more. The duke had shifted back to his other side, chameleon changing colors to an unobtrusive green for no good reason at all. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling above the summoning circle where Michael would mostly likely appear from if she appeared at all.

Again, Crowley frowned. Hmm.

Nevertheless, his primary concern was keeping Aziraphale from being tortured by the three sadistic demons, though how he was supposed to do that without blowing their cover was beyond him. If they went much farther with this, he'd have no choice, covers be damned.

"Problem, Crowley?" Hastur asked with narrowed eyes.

It was a test, _obviously_ a test, but one he was considering failing.

"Yes, do go on then, Crowley," Aziraphale drawled, jerking against the manacles encircling his wrists. "Or do you imagine yourself stronger than them that they would need _you _here."

Right, point taken, it wasn't like he could do any good here anyway. It was neither a comforting thought nor did it alleviate his guilt. He'd brought this down on Aziraphale. He should have been more careful, should have made the angel leave for Heaven straightaway with no argument, should have done… _something. _

"Quiet, angel," Ligur grunted. "Let's not forget, he has a trophy from you. Show some respect for your betters." He planted his foot against Aziraphale's back, shoving forward so that the angel had to quickly catch himself on his hands.

Crowley saw Aziraphale's cheeks flush red and wanted to rip Ligur's legs off with his fangs. He'd almost forgotten the trophy, releasing his grip a bit so he didn't damage the quill. It would have to be intact for when he restored it later… once they'd gotten out of this.

If they got out of this.

"You always did underestimate me," the angel murmured to the floor. His head dipped only the slightest fraction in the smallest of nods. "And what I can do."

The demon could hear the unspoken words: _I can handle this, Crowley. Just go, do what they say, I can take it. I can survive. I'm tougher than they think. _

Though it was perhaps the most unforgiveable thing he'd ever done, Crowley shrugged and turned his back. "Fine. I'll be back soon."

"Oh and Crowley, take the long way," Hastur said as Crowley started to sink down towards the hellish realm. He nodded towards the door when Crowley glanced over his shoulder with a frown. "So we'll have plenty of time to… work."

"Play," Dagon offered cheerfully.

"Hurt him," Ligur clarified, ever helpful.

"Yep, got that," Crowley said through clenched teeth. Knowing he still had to be the demon, he stalked off. "Leave some for me!" he shouted over his shoulder as he walked away from his angel. And _someone_ help them for every mark he found when he returned. If anyone damaged Aziraphale, Crowley would spend the rest of his life subtly making sure their plans all backfired in horrible, awful, agonizing ways.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shit shit shit _shit shit SHIT!_"

The Bentley roared across London faster than it ever had before. Even Queen was silent on the radio. This was serious business, with Aziraphale's life at stake.

Crowley looked down at the feather he still had in his hand. A _trophy_. Getting one from Gabriel had been funny and satisfying, after the archangel was such a prick to Aziraphale. But this? This wasn't funny at all. He had _left _the angel, he'd taken a feather from him and then abandoned him there with Hastur and the others. And when Aziraphale didn't break, Beelzebub would probably order the angel taken to Hell where they could _really _torture him.

No matter what the cost, he had to ensure that never happened. He knew Aziraphale would survive being roughed up a bit by Hastur, but torture at the hands of the masters in Hell? No, Crowley would take the angel and run for it before he let that happen. Though he had no idea where they would go that would be safe from both Heaven _and _Hell.

Crowley tucked the feather gingerly into the glove compartment for the Bentley to keep safe for him until he could get it back to Aziraphale.

"Listen, I don't ask for much," he snapped to the empty air all around him. "And the one thing I did ask for you didn't give me. You don't want to give me another chance, fine, but _Aziraphale_ doesn't deserve this. How can you let this happen? How's that for a question? Huh? _Are you listening?_"

Crowley plowed straight through a row of garbage bins, reckless in his rage and fear. He tried not to think about the demons beating Aziraphale, but then of course it was the only thing he _could _think about. And he wasn't there to protect the angel.

There was one possibility. It was a long shot. In fact it was all but suicidal, but Crowley had successfully pulled off crazier stunts. Not _much _crazier, and often barely a success, but still. It was better than nothing at all.

So when he arrived at the building housing the entrance to Heaven and Hell in record time, Crowley threw the Bentley in park and hurried inside. He took the escalator down two stairs at a time, but then instead of seeking out Beelzebub, Crowley threw a furtive glance around and slipped into the old, all but forgotten stairwell in the corner.

To all outward appearances, the tower only had thirty-five floors. It was much bigger on the inside, though. To reach the penthouse, Crowley had seventy staircases to climb, and climb he did, as fast as his legs would carry him.

This rather alarming rate was only alarming because of how slow it actually was. Crowley gasped and panted at each landing, draped over the rail as he fought to catch his breath and keep moving. The upshot was, everyone else smartly used the escalators so he ran into no one at all.

Finally at the top landing, Crowley leaned over to huff and puff for air, wincing as his muscles threw a tantrum and then a Revolution for good measure before calming down enough for him to concentrate.

Then Crowley shifted, and shrank.

Size was no obstacle for a demon. They could be as large or as small as a given situation called for. This situation called for stealth, so as Crowley's limbs were pulled inward and his skin morphed into scales, he simultaneously grew smaller and smaller and smaller until he was little more than a fine dark hair weaving its way under the door and down the shiny white halls of Heaven.

Satan, it hurt! Crowley shot along the slick floor as fast as he could as though to outrun the burn of Heaven's holy ground. He paused only once to peel his head up and check the large board on the wall which listed the various offices and which direction they were in. Finding the one he wanted, Crowley slithered on his way.

"D'you smell that?" an angel complained to his compatriot as they passed.

"Aye. We'll have to get maintenance up here to check the vents. Smells like a bit of Hell seeping up."

Probably it smelled a bit like burning snake belly as well, but Crowley stayed the course until he'd reached the office he wanted.

_Please be in there please be in there please be in there… _he thought and slipped right under the door, up the leg of the chair in front of the desk, and into the seat.

With incredible relief to be off the floor, Crowley shifted back to his human form and plopped his feet straight onto Michael's desk with a thud.

"Do you know what remora fish are?" he asked by way of hello.

Michael, who very much _was _at her desk with a pile of paperwork and a frown, gasped in shock at the sudden appearance and leaped ungracefully to her feet so that her own chair tumbled backwards.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded between heavy, startled breaths.

"I've got all kinds of tricks," Crowley shrugged. "Remora are fish that live on sharks and keep them clean in exchange for not being eaten. It's called a mutualistic relationship."

"What are you _doing_ here?"

Crowley sighed, a bit disappointed that she'd missed what he considered rather a clever analogy. "I'm the remora. You're the shark."

"I _beg _your pardon, are you offering to… clean me?"

"What? No!" This wasn't working. "You know what, never mind. Let me make it simple. I'll keep your secret if you keep mine."

Michael sneered at him. "And what secret am I supposed to have?"

"You know." Crowley crossed his arms and rolled the proverbial dice. "Your whole spy thing with Ligur."

If he hadn't been 100% sure before, the look on her face clinched it. Michael's eyes widened, too taken aback to hide the guilt. "I- I… I don't know what you're talking about. You forget your place, Crowley. Don't forget I have a trophy from you."

Crowley let a smirk play across his face, aware that he was on the clock and every second he sat here was a second that the demons were hurting Aziraphale. He needed to hurry. "_Do _you?" he challenged. "Be quite a trick, that. Seeing as I got them back from all of you without you even realizing it."

Michael's face pinched in a frosty glare. So she _had _noticed the disappearance. "Your voice has changed," she snapped accusingly.

"I was tired of hissing."

"Right, well, this has all been fascinating, but I'm going to kill you now."

Michael drew her sword, pointing it at Crowley, who only shrugged and continued to lounge in the chair.

"You could," he acknowledged. "But you won't."

"And why won't I?"

"Because you're dying to know what I know and how," Crowley pointed out with a confidence he didn't at all feel. "Because you thought you were being so careful and no one would ever find you out. And because you don't know who else might be clued in."

Michael frowned but didn't deny the point.

Tilting his head, Crowley explained, "Ligur was easy to figure out. He was a little too insistent that it was me and there need not be any 'investigating'. No poker face. Honestly it's a wonder Lord Beelzebub hasn't got him figured yet." He tsked. "Fraternizing, Michael. Shame on you."

"It's not like that," Michael snapped. She took a steadying breath and smoothed her hair back in place. "He blabbed, did he?"

_Ah-hah_. "Not yet. Figured it was one of you lot, though. But Uriel doesn't have the imagination… Gabriel doesn't have the time. Mostly it was a shot in the dark, but you've gone and confirmed it for me. Thanks for that."

"Why you little-"

"You realize they think it's Aziraphale, don't you?" Crowley cut her off, no longer smirking.

She had the decency to allow a flicker of guilt to cross her face but didn't otherwise reply.

"And you know they've got him," Crowley pressed. "Right now. And you know what they'll do to him, looking for answers he can't possibly give, because he's not the spy. _You_ are."

And still Michael didn't voice any concern, despite the increasingly uncomfortable expression. Crowley snorted and shook his head in disgust.

"You archangels, you really are something," he growled. "Look, I don't care who you 'fraternize' with. I don't even care if you're trading secrets. But you've pulled _me_ into your mess and I want it fixed."

"Oh you do? Or what, exactly?"

Crowley tipped his head musingly. "Does Gabriel know about your little deal with Ligur? Hmm? Maybe he knows you got information, but does he know what juicy secrets you had to give away in return? What about the other angels, do they know you'd throw Aziraphale to the demons just to keep them off your scent? He doesn't deserve this! Aziraphale wouldn't hurt a fly!"

Michael scoffed, and Crowley glowered.

"No, I'm serious, he shoos them outside. It's absurd."

"So we were right, you _are_ fraternizing with Aziraphale."

Crowley hemmed. "Call it a business partnership. Like with you and Ligur."

It was, of course, nothing like with her and Ligur.

"We've merely agreed to a permanent ceasefire. It means we both stay alive," he went on, "which I rather like. You take that from me by letting him die and I'll burn it all down to the ground. You. Ligur. Everything. I swear I'll make sure every single angel in Heaven knows what you did. Who knows, word might even get back to the Big Man Upstairs, and what do you think She'll have to say about it?"

Michael leaned over the desk, glaring darkly down at the demon. "I'm doing this for the good of Heaven," she seethed. "You think She cares about one angel compared to the Big Picture? You haven't been paying attention."

Crowley stared at the archangel, a storm cloud gathering on his face. Slowly, he rose to his feet as well, ignoring the burn, leaning over the other side of the desk until he was nose to nose with Michael.

"I think angels who turn on other angels don't historically fare well with Her," he said, deadly soft. "And it's a long way down."

Michael hesitated, no longer looking so sure of herself. Good.

"Get Aziraphale out of this and keep his secret," Crowley pressed, "and you'll never hear another word from me. I'll even make sure no one looks too hard at Ligur, and _trust me_, you need that. He'd crack in a second and give you up. So it's in everyone's best interests for you and I to have an agreement of our own. Mutualism. Sharks and remoras."

If Michael clenched her jaw much tighter she'd end up with teeth up her nose. Stiffly, she straightened up and then righted her chair to sit down in, which Crowley took as acquiescence. He nodded.

"Right then, here's what I need you to do."

Crowley quickly outlined the plan then abruptly turned to go.

"Crowley."

The demon twisted just in time to see Michael lunging. He stumbled back, but still found himself pinned to the wall by the glowering archangel, a sword edge tickling his throat.

"I could still just kill you instead," Michael growled. "And all of this goes away."

There had been a time when Crowley was afraid of the archangel.

The time was now.

But back down in a quaint little bookshop, three demons were beating his best friend for information he didn't have, and Crowley couldn't spare any extra seconds being scared.

"Too late," he shrugged.

Then he shrank, and shifted, and a fine dark hair fled under the door and down the hall.

o.O.o

Beelzebub was decidedly green by the time the Bentley finally pulled up to the bookshop and Crowley was feeling smug about it. He did not appreciate having to chauffeur the Lord of Hell around in his car when they could have easily taken the usual shortcut up through the floor and he fully intended for Beelzebub to deem the slower method not worth it at all.

From the way the demon had to grab the side of the car after tottering out, dry heaving a bit, Crowley had succeeded.

Abandoning his carsick passenger, Crowley stormed towards the shop with nothing in mind but reaching his angel. He was met at the front door by Hastur, calmly wiping bloody knuckles on his shirt. Crowley's heart rate doubled.

"It's too late," Hastur said with a victorious smirk. "The angel already told us everything. We know all about you now, Crowley. He crumbled like rotted teeth."

Only the dark glasses hiding his eyes saved Crowley from giving himself away with his panic. His first terrified thought was how badly they must have tortured Aziraphale to actually make him break.

His second thought was self-recrimination for nearly falling for the same trick he'd used on Michael. Aziraphale was loyal to a fault; he wouldn't have betrayed their friendship. Crowley snorted.

"He didn't confess anything about _me_," he shot back. "And I know that because there's nothing to confess. It was a good try, though."

Hastur looked disappointed but didn't say anything as Beelzebub shoved between the two.

"Let'szzz get on with thizzZZzzzZ. I want to get back to Hell. The _traditional _way."

Crowley couldn't help gloating a bit as he followed Beelzebub inside, but it took all his effort to keep the smirk on his face when he caught sight of Aziraphale.

The angel was seated against one of the four circular columns in the open area of the main room, his legs curled beside him. His hands were still manacled, attached to the column he leaned against by a spike driven through the chain up beside his head. The blood looked bad, but not half as bad as the scorch marks and burns. Each breath he took was a wheeze and a whistle and there were tears in his eyes. Tracks ran down through the blood and ash on his face, but Aziraphale's teeth were gritted with angelic stubbornness.

_Oh, angel, I'll bring them all down for this, _Crowley thought with an aching thud in his heart. Small evils against humanity were one thing. This was awful. To hurt a being so good as Aziraphale, so cruelly, was more wrong than anything Crowley could have ever done.

Beelzebub motioned to Ligur, who unhooked the chain and dragged Aziraphale forth. The angel tried to shuffle along on his knees to keep up, sending a spasm of pain across his face as he was thrust forward to kneel before the Lord of Hell.

"What did you get out of him, then?" Beelzebub directed to Hastur while eyeing the angel.

Hastur hemmed and hawed a few times before muttering, "Erm… Nothing yet."

Aziraphale's lips twitched with obvious triumph. Crowley wanted to grin.

Instead he snorted in derision. "That's because none of you lot have been studying his methods and weaknesses for centuries, have you? Want to see what he's afraid of?"

o.O.o

Aziraphale watched Crowley disappear out the door to fetch Beelzebub, fighting with all his might to keep the terror off his face. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction. But it seemed Crowley had managed to evade suspicion, so that was something.

If only he could think of a way out of this, but it was hard to think at all with three demons circling him like jackals on the prowl. Aziraphale wanted to stand up, not liking how vulnerable he was down here on the floor. They would only push him down again, though, and laugh at him. Aziraphale didn't want to make himself an easier target than he already was.

So he held very still instead, trying to remember if there were any weapons in the bookshop and how he would get to them if there were, but nothing came to mind.

A pair of scorched shoes stopped in front of him and Aziraphale tilted his head up to see Hastur standing there. Of all of them, Hastur was the one who scared him the most.

"I've nothing to say," Aziraphale automatically said, voice wavering a bit.

"You're a spy for the angels."

"What? No!" Aziraphale protested, inching back until he ran into a solid something that turned out to be Dagon. He tilted his head back then shuddered when she beamed down at him and licked the tip of the spike she held. "I- I'm not a spy! Spying is bad. Angels can't do bad things, we- _ow!_"

Aziraphale instinctively reached chained hands up to combat the fingers clenched in his hair, but Dagon only smiled and traced the spike across his throat.

"If angels couldn't do bad things," she said, "there would be no such thing as demons."

"But there are," Ligur commented. "Crowley's definitely your demon contact, isn't he? Let's hurt him until he admits it. We all know who it is, don't we, we just need him to say so."

"I don't _have _a demon contact-" Aziraphale cut off with a sharp _oomph _as he was thrust to the floor, a heavy foot driving into his stomach and leaving him to curl in on himself. Somewhere up above him was the sound of a match being lit, but when he twisted his head up painfully it was actually Hastur's hand holding a palm full of flames.

The stench of evil intensified with the presence of hellfire and Aziraphale felt terrified tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "You d-don't have to do this," he whispered. "I'm not a spy."

"A likely story," Hastur said, making a show of tipping the flames this way and that, dipping the forefinger of his free hand into the fire to separate out a smaller tongue. He nodded to the other two demons.

Someone grabbed him and pulled him up to his knees, hands holding his arms to keep him still. The other wrenched his head back and to the side so that the angel felt the heat of Hastur's fire on his cheek.

"I already told you!" he cried out as Hastur held his burning finger to hover over the angel's face. "I'm not a spy and I don't know who the demon contact would be!" Aziraphale tried to jerk free to no avail. A plea was on his lips but he forced himself not to utter it. He couldn't beg, because it wouldn't earn him any mercy anyways, and he couldn't help but think that Crowley wouldn't show such weakness and neither could he.

"Admit that Crowley is fraternizing with you."

Aziraphale eyed the flame.

"No."

It hurt. Worse than having a feather taken, worse than nearly being consumed by the First One in his misadventure with Crowley in Turkey. Worse than anything. Aziraphale lost all sense of time or how long they had been there hurting him. He was able to hear each new threat of bodily harm before it occurred, able to hear the questions they hurled at him between taunts and promises of what Hell would be like if he made them resort to it, but everything else disappeared.

In the end, Aziraphale stopped listening, merely repeated over and over at various levels of desperation that he wasn't a spy, he wasn't a spy, he wasn't a spy… Anything more than that they might twist into some falsified proof against Crowley and then all of this would be for nothing. They were relentless, trying to force a confession with their fists and hellfire.

Finally he was dragged back over to one of the columns and thrust against it. Dagon grabbed his manacled hands and drove her spike through the links to secure him there while they took a break. Aziraphale hadn't given up a single thing, and despite the pain that wracked his entire body, he couldn't help but feel a touch of pride.

"So much for playing nice," Dagon sighed. "Thought he'd be an easy break, that one. We'll have to try harder once Beelzebub arrives."

The angel shuddered, but didn't have long to wait before the Lord of Hell strode into the store with Crowley in tow. As Aziraphale was brought over to the head demon, he couldn't help feeling a flash of relief and comfort to know that Crowley was there with him, even if he couldn't do anything to stop what was happening. Just the demon's presence, knowing he wasn't alone, was enough.

"Want to see what he's really afraid of?" he heard Crowley ask, and then a snake was standing where his demon had been.

Well, not standing of course, because that implied legs and the snake didn't have any, as most didn't. He was enormous, though, as big as the first day Aziraphale had met him in the Garden so long ago. His first baffled thought was that he'd never been afraid of snakes, he quite liked snakes in fact. His second thought was shock when Crowley lunged at him, not to bite, but to coil tightly around him.

Around and around snake Crowley wrapped the angel, trapping his arms. The jostling hurt his beaten frame, but the scales were cold and soothing against the burns.

Aziraphale didn't feel threatened; he felt protected. If he hadn't been putting on a show of fear of Crowley, he would have sagged with relief to be held like this, tight and secure so that the demons couldn't hurt him again without literally going through Crowley first.

"I've got you, angel," the snake hissed into Aziraphale's ear, so low that no one else would hear. "Help isss coming. Now be afraid of me."

Aziraphale imagined what would happen if the ruse wasn't enough to allay suspicion, if he and Crowley were both taken to Hell, and the terror was easy to manifest. Crowley was wound so securely around him that he couldn't even make the attempt to wriggle free, so settled for a strangled cry instead.

"G-get him off!" he pleaded with not entirely faked hysteria. "Get him off, _please_, I'm not a spy! I swear it, _PLEASE _just get him off!"

"IntereszzZting," Beelzebub said. "MosZZzt effective. You have him, Crowley?"

"Please," Aziraphale whispered again, watching with hidden satisfaction as Ligur and Dagon traded impressed looks and Hastur just fumed. "Please, please, please, I can't, I… I don't _know _anything, please…"

"Ngh. I've got him," Crowley assured both Beelzebub and Aziraphale. "He's not going anywhere. I've got him now."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Please enjoy the rescue and comfort conclusion! ^_^ Thanks persephonecats for your review! :D_

* * *

"Now then, let'sZzz begin."

"I've told you," Aziraphale pretended to panic, writhing just enough in Crowley's hold for the demon to tell he was on edge. "I don't _know _anything! I don't know, please just _get the snake off of me! _Please, what do you want?"

"Ssspeak when you're ssspoken to, _angel,_" Crowley warned with as dark of a glare as a snake could offer, which was surprisingly fairly dark for such a featureless face. He was pleased with Aziraphale's acting job, as the angel closed his eyes and whimpered convincingly, craning his face away from Crowley's serpentine head.

The demon's nerves were completely shot, though. The whole plan hinged entirely on whether or not Michael would call his bluff, whether the archangel would show up to help. If she didn't, Crowley would have to resort to plan B, of which there wasn't one.

"Are you a zzZZspy for Heaven?"

"No!" Aziraphale cried.

"Are you and the demon Crowley working together?"

"Of _course_ not!"

"Have you ever convinced a demon to give you ZsecretszzZz?"

"Please, I've already told you, I haven't," Aziraphale insisted. "Please, please let me go."

Hastur stalked forward, black jelly eyes blinking as he raised a hand as though to hit the angel, only to realize with a furious exhale that he couldn't strike Aziraphale with Crowley in the way. Crowley internally smirked, since his mouth wasn't currently designed for external smirking.

"You aren't going anywhere," Hastur settled for snapping. "Whether you give Crowley up or not, you're coming back to Hell as our prisoner and-"

The light over the summoning circle suddenly flared to life with a faint celestial ring. All of the demons but Crowley gasped in dismay and quickly backed out of the way of the circle; Crowley hissed with only pretend dismay and slithered out, dragging Aziraphale along with him, while secretly sighing with relief.

"Keep him quiet!" Beelzebub hissed, gesturing at Aziraphale.

Crowley shifted with the intent to wind further up the angel's face, but Hastur, who had dived to the same side of the circle as Crowley, beat him to it. The demon stood behind them both, covering Aziraphale's mouth with his hand and yanking backward so both the angel and Crowley were pulled tight against him. Crowley grumbled softly with displeasure but didn't speak up.

"Aziraphale, why haven't you reported in?" Michael's voice snapped from Heaven, impatient and irate. "I do not like to be kept waiting."

"One peep," Hastur whispered to Aziraphale, who was breathing in short shallow gasps—probably from the stench of the demon so close—"and I'll slit your miserable throat."

"Aziraphale!" Michael barked, louder.

Hastur suddenly yelped in pain, leaping backwards and shaking his hand. "You _bit _me, you little-!"

"Michael, _help_!"

The resulting flash was brilliant and immediate, culminating in the form of a fuming Michael standing in the bookshop circle.

"Looks like the party's all here," she smirked, piercing gaze landing on each demon in turn. "Beelzebub, isn't it?"

"That's Zzzzzzir Beelzebub," the Lord of Hell sniffed, drawing upright. "ZzSending spieszz now, are we? Fair way to run thingszZZz, iszz it? We have every right to kill your angel. The ruleszzzZ of engagement-"

"What, you mean _that_?" Michael asked disdainfully, nodding to Aziraphale, who flinched in Crowley's hold. "That soft, puffy angel, a spy? He's here for minor miracles and to stay out of the way, not to spy. If you're talking about the recent _information_ _leak_, we caught an imp encroaching on Heaven's territory and... convinced him to earn his release. Didn't you know? My word, what sort of operation are you running in Hell?"

Beelzebub sniffed with great affront, flies buzzing angrily. "And I should take your word for that?"

"I don't frankly care," Michael grinned with dark intent, wings appearing in obvious challenge. "You can leave or you can fight. Is the _bookshop _angel worth it to you?"

Beelzebub wavered; Crowley could see the sudden doubt in the lead demon's eyes. Hastur, Ligur, and Dagon looked back and forth between Beelzebub and Michael, waiting for the word. But they were in angel home territory, and if Beelzebub fought and lost then so would so much of Hell's credibility.

"I've been itching to get another trophy," Michael goaded. She tilted her head and shouted, "Gabriel, Uriel, _now_!"

"Retreat!" Beelzebub shouted, mind made up, already sinking down through the floor. The other three scrambled to do likewise, scattering in their terror, while Crowley shifted back to his human form and crashed to the ground in a scramble to get away.

Michael was on him in seconds.

"Not _you_, serpent!" she seethed, grabbing him by the coat and slinging him around hard enough for his head to hit the nearby shelf, raining books down on him.

By the time Crowley's head had cleared from the resulting daze, the demons were gone and Aziraphale was watching him with wide, panicked eyes from where he'd been left. His gaze flicked to Michael and back in questioning, so Crowley nodded and stood with a groan.

"Was that necessary?" he grumbled.

"Don't speak," Michael snarled, wings disappearing though her sword remained pointed at Crowley. "I kept my end, now you will keep yours. You will make it your personal mission to make sure no one _ever _suspects a thing about me. And if you give Gabriel stronger cause to believe there's any fraternizing going on between you, you're on your own. I won't protect you."

Crowley supposed that was the best deal they were ever going to get anyway, but still shrugged with what he hoped was a carefree air.

"Yeah, good, fine. Like I said, it's nothing but a mutually agreed upon ceasefire between us." Hopefully Aziraphale would get that message and not say anything to contradict it, but the angel remained silent. "So we're in agreement. You keep that secret, and we'll keep yours. I'd hate for anyone to suspect the great archangel herself-"

And as he was so very good at doing, he'd pushed it too far. Crowley grunted in pain as he was slammed back into the shelf once again, Michael pinning him in place with her sword at his throat. The touch of heavenly metal made him hiss with discomfort.

"Let me make this… perfectly clear," she said, voice low and dangerous. "The _only _reason I stepped in is because Aziraphale is still useful. If you ever… _ever_… try to blackmail me again…" Michael's voice dropped even lower, sword pressing in. The silence lingered as she let him imagine whatever exquisite punishment she could mete out against him, before finishing, "You will find yourself living in my office in a blessed cage as my pet snake, praying it's normal water I've put in your little dish each day instead of the holy variety. Until I finally tire of you, and then I will _crush_ you under my heel."

Michael smiled viciously, brushing off a speck of lint from Crowley's jacket.

"Do we understand each other?"

There had been a time when Crowley was afraid of the archangel.

The time was still now.

Gulping, he muttered a strangled agreement. "Mm-hmm."

Her eyes flashed. "Good. Now, I expect you'll have to tell them you barely escaped an archangel. Let's make it convincing, shall we?"

Crowley got not even a second of warning before Michael reared back and punched him so hard that his head _once again _cracked the shelf and he slumped down to the floor. When he looked up, she was gone and Aziraphale was still kneeling where he'd been left, eyes wide, in chains. Michael hadn't even bothered to set him free or take care of his _obvious _wounds or, as far as Crowley had seen, acknowledge him at all.

The pure unfairness made him want to scream, still utterly incapable of comprehending how Heaven could look so unfavorably on such a genuinely good angel. Fine. He'd just have to put Aziraphale back together himself.

"She's a real doll, isn't she?" he grumbled, rubbing his jaw as he pushed himself upright. That would leave a mark. Which _would _be helpful when he returned to Hell, but still.

"Crowley," Aziraphale gasped, scrambling towards him. "Michael- Michael knows? Hurry, get up, perhaps there's enough time to-"

"Angel," the demon shushed him, looking down at Aziraphale's wrists when the manacles clanked against his arm. He sighed, covering the metal with his own hands and imagining them gone. They disappeared. "I had to tell her," he murmured. "Only thing to do, really. I don't expect she'll give us away though, not unless she wants me to spill the beans about her and Ligur."

"Her and- but surely you can't be serious?"

"What, you think even I could make that up?" Crowley snorted, then winced as he finally had a chance to assess the damage done to Aziraphale up close. "Ngh, they really did a number on you." The tone was light but only because admitting how scared and furious he was would be unbecoming of a demon.

"I'll be quite alright," Aziraphale said, but he looked away, rubbing his bruised wrists where the manacles had been. The burns stood out livid and reddened on his face, but also, Crowley could now see, on his forearms, his chest and stomach all the way through his layers of clothes, his hands… It must have been awful. And he'd been alone.

Crowley sucked in a breath. "Come on, then. Let's get you taken care of."

He forced himself to his feet and took Aziraphale's arm, helping the angel to stand as well and guiding him in the direction of the worn, cozy couch in the corner. Aziraphale was limping, leading Crowley to note another burn through the leg of his trousers. Burns, that would be top priority, but then there was also the way the angel was hugging his middle and continuing to wheeze when he breathed, which probably meant broken ribs as well. Likely the pain from the hellfire was keeping him from fixing the other more mundane wounds.

Aziraphale's jaw was clenched but as Crowley got him onto the couch, the angel choked on a cry and had to stop for several raspy, shallow breaths before he could lean back any farther. Crowley's heart stuttered then jolted to a stop as a horrible thought struck him.

"Angel," he said as gently as he could. "They didn't… the fire, they… your wings?"

"No, no," Aziraphale assured him, though his reassuring smile was more of a grimace and wasn't actually reassuring at all. His face fell, and he looked down, biting his lip. "I- I don't suppose you might… well, I mean I can't _make _you of course, but… I wonder…"

"Am I supposed to read your mind?" Crowley grumbled. "Spit it out."

Aziraphale shrank back a bit, still holding himself stiffly, still looking away. "It's nothing," he whispered. "It might be a good idea, in fact, much less suspicious if they know you still have it. After all the trouble you went through to get it."

"Still have _what_\- OH!" Crowley smacked his forehead, cursing his own stupidity with a swell of guilt. "Don't be ridiculous, angel, I'm not going to keep your feather. Wait here, I left it in the car for safekeeping." Muttering more low oaths to himself for having forgotten and therefore scaring Aziraphale, Crowley hurried to grab the shining white feather from the glovebox. He held it almost reverently, returning it to its angel.

"You'll have to bring your wings out if I'm going to fix it," he mentioned vaguely before pausing. "Did any of the others take…?" He tried not to imagine it, remembering what it was like to be held down while his wings were ripped apart by multiple enemies and praying his angel hadn't gone through such a nightmare.

Aziraphale shook his head, still not quite meeting Crowley's eyes. "No," he answered softly. "They wanted to but said they would wait until… until they'd finished with me. That they'd have every demon in Hell get one. Not just the trophy feathers but... _all _of them. Would have- would have looked rather silly, I imagine."

The attempt for humor fell woefully flat in the presence of his glistening eyes, face taut with fear. There was a ripple of light behind him but the beautiful white wings were slow to unfurl. Only one gap showed among the feathers where Crowley had ripped the primary out, and suddenly the demon had to close his eyes against a wave of nausea.

"Crowley?"

"This is my fault," he muttered hopelessly. "I got you into this. All of it. The Arrangement, everything, it was my idea, my _fault_, my- you would have never gotten in trouble if I hadn't… All I've done is get you hurt. First in Turkey, now this…"

"Oh, my dear."

A gentle hand found his shoulder, and really that just made it worse. Now _Aziraphale_ was comforting _him_ even though he was the one who'd been beaten and burned and threatened with being ravaged by the entire horde of Hell.

"I'd never let it happen," Crowley told him, anxious for the angel to know it. "I'd _never _let them take you."

"And you didn't. Crowley, you saved my life. I… thank you. Someday you'll have to tell me how in the world you got Michael to agree to all this because I must admit myself to be quite stymied."

Crowley growled low in his throat that the angel was thanking him instead of condemning him as he deserved. He studied the wing, noting the follicle looked undamaged. He almost reached out to slide the feather back in, but remembered in time to stop and look at Aziraphale.

"So is it alright then, if I, you know?"

"Oh yes, it's quite alright. Thank you." Aziraphale stretched the wing out a bit further and leaned against the couch, wincing again with evident pain.

Crowley wanted to get to healing the rest of the wounds, but having his wings intact would probably do the most good for Aziraphale's state of mind. The demon stuck his tongue between his teeth and glowered in concentration as he fumbled to get the feather quill back into the follicle. He leaned in, blowing gently; his power fused into the space and clung to the feather to hold it there. The wing immediately pulsed with light that hurt his eyes, already starting to knit back around the feather.

"Oh, that tingles," Aziraphale said with a wriggle.

"Ngh. Hold still, this is going to take a minute." Crowley waited until the glow had died down a bit, then blew again. It took a lot of power, fixing wings. The demon felt himself tiring, but he kept at it until the top of the follicle closed around the feather quill, and the rest the wing could do for itself.

Pleased with the work, Crowley turned back to Aziraphale with a sharp nod.

"There. No trophies between us, that's that done. Now for the rest." He swallowed. "Hellfire?"

Aziraphale shuddered, replying with a wretched sigh, "I'm afraid so. I can't seem to heal them. I was trying, while you were taking care of the wing, but… well it just isn't working."

"No more than I could heal from holy water. It's a miracle it didn't kill you."

"It would have," the angel said quietly. "He never touched me with it, or I'm sure I would have burned to ashes. He only…" Aziraphale held his hand out to demonstrate, mere centimeters from Crowley's face. His eyes were distant.

"Hastur?"

Aziraphale nodded. "He scares me, Crowley, I hate to admit. Not as badly as Michael and Gabriel, but he is the most horrid demon I've ever come across. Do you know, I really think he didn't care whether I answered his questions or not?"

"He didn't," Crowley replied, taking Aziraphale's hand and turning it over to examine the burns marking the soft skin of his forearm. "If you'd told him all about us, he would've kept going. Only there wouldn't be breaks for him to get his questions in. You didn't know that, but you still didn't give me up."

He didn't phrase it as a question, but the angel seemed to hear one anyway, the question buried deep down within the statement. Aziraphale bristled indignantly, or else it was just a twitch of pain when Crowley brushed his hand over the burn.

"Of course not. Crowley, my dear, we may be on opposite sides, but… well, don't you know, I do consider you my friend, and if I had confirmed his suspicions, it would have been _you _they burned. I could never have forgiven myself."

_But it would have been worth it, _Crowley wanted to scream. _If one of us lives, it should be YOU, the angel, the good one, the one who's worthwhile even if the others will never see that properly… _

"Crowley? What are you thinking?"

The demon cleared his throat. "That I might not be able to fix these completely," he said. "What else is there, angel? If I try healing these now, I won't have the energy for the rest, so let me take care of everything else first."

"You really don't have to-"

"What," Crowley overrode him, eyes narrowing, "did they do to you?"

With a sigh, Aziraphale looked down at his hands, growing small again. "The burns were the worst," he said softly. "And the threats for the things they never got around to, really awful things, Crowley. They- they hit me a little, but it wasn't bad."

"Oh- oh, just a little beating, was it. Yeah, nothing to it. For hell's sake, Aziraphale, you're not breathing properly."

"Ah, right, they, ah… Ligur may have cracked a rib or two. Dagon mostly just threatened to turn me into a pincushion. It's just some bruises, dear, I've had cans of caviar do more damage while trying to open them than those two. My poor coat, on the other hand…"

Of course he'd be more worried about his clothes. Crowley tried not to grin, not wanting to encourage that sort of ridiculous behavior, but only just managed to sigh in exasperation instead of snicker in amusement. Nevertheless, the bruises disappeared with a wave of his hand, and then he was free to focus on the burns.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Crowley asked, a little belatedly, as he resumed studying Aziraphale's arm while trying to decide how to best go about this. "At the end there. Sorry there wasn't time to warn you. Tried not to squeeze too tight, but you know I had to make a good show of things."

"Not at all. Dare I say it, the cold was rather a relief. And we did do a marvelous job fooling them, didn't we?"

Hmm. That would work. Crowley couldn't fix the burn itself, but he could certainly ease the pain. Shifting just the palm of his hands into naturally cold snakeskin, bringing more of his power to centralize there in an icy coating, Crowley wrapped his hands around the red marks. Aziraphale immediately sighed with relief.

"That's divine."

"Wrong direction, angel."

For a good moment, they were silent. Crowley moved one hand to a brutally angry welt on Aziraphale's chest and the angel wriggled a bit.

"Hold still."

"Michael knows."

Crowley paused. Then finally he nodded. "Yeah."

"We'll have to be terribly careful, you know. We can't keep getting in these pickles. It's only a matter of time before… well, before I'm not… useful enough to make it worth Heaven's time. I don't think she'll help us again-"

"Wait, wait, wait, just stop it, angel." Bless it, Crowley would love to give Michael a piece of his mind, if she wasn't so terrifying. He'd asked the archangel to come and scare Beelzebub away, after Aziraphale had laid the groundwork for a perfect alibi that she'd be checking in anyway.

He had not even _hinted _that she ought to say the things she'd said about him. "Michael was pissed off because of me, that's all. Didn't like that I'd figured her out. What she said, it isn't true."

"Oh, Crowley. But it is, my dear. We both know it. Heaven knows it. I'm _soft_ and ridiculous and they only let me stay here because it keeps me out of their way. Of the important things, you know."

"You're important, too." Crowley moved his ice cold hand to the burn across Aziraphale's cheek—trying not to imagine them pinning him in place so Hastur could taunt him with the flames burning him by proximity alone. And then of course not being able to _stop _imagining it.

Aziraphale had gone still finally, so Crowley sighed and added, "You're the only one, angel, the only one here, on Earth, every day, loving these stupid little things running around. The important things- what does that even _mean_, the important things? Like what you do isn't important? The- the miracles, the _saving _people, the absolutely absurd way you shoo flies outside, _flies_, Aziraphale! You actually care about this whole ridiculous place, don't you? All of it, even the flies. After everything we've seen, you still love it. You protect it."

Crowley snorted, raising his other hand to cup Aziraphale's other cheek, soothing away the hurt.

"You ask me, that's a hell of a lot more important than _whatever _the archangels are up to, up there," he muttered.

If nothing else, it brought a soft smile to Aziraphale's face. Probably somewhere out there, it brought one to God's, too. Not that She was watching any of this. But if She had been, She would have been drinking it in like that bottle of Montrachet that She happened to know was in Aziraphale's private collection.

"You're right on one thing, though," the demon conceded. "We shouldn't make a habit of this."

"Dreadful business, really."

"Ngh. Right, that's settled, we'll both stop being caught and beaten up, yeah?"

Aziraphale chuckled lightly. "I suppose we can only do our best. Oh that really does feel marvelous, dear, thank you." He winced, though. "I'm just so horribly tired."

"Close your eyes, then."

Aziraphale's eyes darted around the shop, expression falling a bit. More than anything, Crowley hated that it had been the bookstore, the haven that Aziraphale had made for himself. This was his safe place away from everything, and Crowley had brought danger right into the middle of it. That the angel had gotten hurt was bad of course, but that they'd hurt him _here _was the worst.

"I'm going to stick around and make myself at home," Crowley said without a 'by your leave'. "Keep icing the burns. Can't concentrate with you yammering so why don't you just rest?"

Some of the tension slid away from the angel as Crowley took his hand to concentrate on one of the cruel burns left across his palm. The softness returned to Aziraphale's gaze.

"Thank you, dear. And you know… you're important, too." The angel lifted a shoulder. "To me."

"Go to sleep, angel."

But his heart lifted a bit, and when Aziraphale closed his eyes and almost instantly fell slack in sleep, Crowley finally smiled.

In the distance, a roll of thunder rumbled deeply over the city.

It was going to be a dark and stormy night. But they were both alive and safe for the moment, so that suited Crowley just fine.


End file.
